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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28231038">Even Perfect Strangers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/helixicality/pseuds/helixicality'>helixicality</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon compliant when I feel like it, Childhood Trauma, F/F, F/M, First War with Voldemort, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), POV Remus Lupin, Slow Burn, werewolfery, wolfstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:21:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28231038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/helixicality/pseuds/helixicality</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus Lupin does not arrive at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1971. Instead, he walks into the Great Hall for the first time as a third year, more wolf than wizard, rough and tired and so, so wary.<br/>.<br/>.<br/>AU where Greyback steals Remus as a child and raises him as part of his pack. But Remus finds his way to the Marauders anyway, because of course he does.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. July 17, 1973</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Summer moons were always the easiest.</p>
<p class="p1">They didn’t ache, didn’t stick shards of ice and chill into Remus’s joints, didn’t freeze his bare paws—not like winter moons did. In summer, he and the others could run free. They could dance between the trees, their howls like laughter, and when they transformed back into their human selves, their skin wouldn’t go numb against hard-packed, snowy earth. There was always pain—they couldn’t escape that, no matter how nice the weather—but the recovery was simpler when the air was warm.</p>
<p class="p1">Two days after the July moon, Remus was already nearly back to normal. The throbbing in his re-stretched bones had faded, his flesh and muscles and ligaments settling back into place. He hadn’t been injured this month. Sometimes, one of the older, bigger wolves would give him a playful swipe with their too-long, too-sharp claws, and he’d wake up in the morning with deep gauges down his side. But this time, he’d been fine. Just about perfect, really.</p>
<p class="p1">“Not so heavy with the salt, ducky. We’ve only got that bit left.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus looked up. He was sitting in the center of the clearing where the pack had made camp for the past few weeks, crouched over a low fire and stewing vegetables in one of their few rusty pans. Guiltily, he put the salt tin aside. He should know better than to be wasteful—the pack was so rarely able to replenish their supplies.</p>
<p class="p1">The woman who’d spoken kneeled down beside him and ruffled his hair. “Let me,” she said, taking the pan and stirring the stew with a stick. She waved her free hand over the fire. Instantly, the flames surged upward, heat grazing Remus’s cheeks.</p>
<p class="p1">Unthinking, Remus scooched closer to her, resting his forehead on her shoulder. She gave his hip a gentle squeeze.</p>
<p class="p1">Delaney was a solid woman. She was thirty-five, homely, with frazzled, stone-gray hair and a sharp beak of a nose. Her smile was always gap-toothed and indulgent. Her body was soft, and Remus had spent many nights hiding his face in the crook of her elbow.</p>
<p class="p1">Delaney was also unique among the wolves, as she alone had been born a muggle. The vast majority of non-wizards died when bitten, but not her. She’d survived, and she’d strutted right into Greyback’s pack, taking no nonsense from anyone, ensuring that the whole family was fed and stopping any of the men from being over-cruel. She had a calm, unfrivolous demeanor. One look, and the strongest wolves would show her their bellies.</p>
<p class="p1">She wasn’t the biggest or the mightiest. Greyback rarely gave her the time of day. But she’d always been Remus’s favorite, and she’d always kept him safe.</p>
<p class="p1">The clearing was nearly empty today. Remus and Delaney sat huddled by the fire, and a few of the quieter women were clumped together near the tree line, murmuring behind their hands. Gregory, an older man who still hadn’t quite recovered from the moon, was lying—probably asleep—on a pile of furs.</p>
<p class="p1">But the others, most of the men and the stronger-bodied women, still hadn’t returned. They hadn’t spent the moon with Remus and Delaney, not like they usually did. They’d run off three days before, and no one would tell Remus where they’d gone, or where they’d hidden when their transformations struck.</p>
<p class="p1">“You think father will be home soon?” Remus asked.</p>
<p class="p1">Delaney tutted. “Don’t you worry about him,” she said. “You know what he’s like: he’ll roll in here, coated in dirt and sweat and God knows what else, and we’d better just make sure we’ve got dinner ready for him when he does.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus giggled. It always tickled a nervous, mischievous <em>something </em>inside his chest, when he heard Delaney say anything about Greyback that wasn’t completely respectful. He would never dare to say something like that himself, even when his father wasn’t there to hear it.</p>
<p class="p1">Suddenly, Gregory lurched to his feet. Remus jerked back, startled. The older man stared around, eyes darting in every direction, knees bent as if he meant to race. “Do you hear that?” he demanded.</p>
<p class="p1">Delaney’s brow furrowed. She closed her eyes, focusing. After a beat of silence, she gasped. “Oh. Oh, no, not now. No, no, no, not now.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus stood uncertainly. His hearing, though far better than any human’s, wasn’t quite as developed as the older wolves. Greyback was always telling him he needed to work on honing his senses. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p class="p1">But Delaney only shook her head. “Into the bushes,” she said.</p>
<p class="p1">“What?”</p>
<p class="p1">She grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving him toward a clump of leafy branches at the back of camp. “Stay here,” she told him. “Stay quiet. Don’t move, don’t speak. Don’t let them see you.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus sank to the forest floor, curling his knees up under his chin. His heart was seizing frantically in his chest. He dug his fingernails into his cheeks, the light sting tethering him into stillness.</p>
<p class="p1">Behind him, he heard the others—Delaney, Gregory, and the other women—coming together in the center of the clearing. He could smell their magic: tinged with the sour scent of fear, but steel-strong and determined. Protective.</p>
<p class="p1">And then, finally—a new sound. The sound Gregory had heard before. Footsteps, lots of them, at least six or seven people. Hurried, but careful. And voices, too—hushed and unfamiliar.</p>
<p class="p1">The wolves had visitors. Visitors could only bring danger.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus curled up tighter, covering his ears with his palms and closing his eyes. But even that couldn’t block out the sounds of what happened next.</p>
<p class="p1">It started with a scream—a familiar scream, a scream Remus heard most months, when the pack succumbed to the agony of the moon. It was one of the women, Lucy. Remus heard a body hit the ground, and he knew it was hers.</p>
<p class="p1">And then, the air was filled with magic. There were two kinds: the easy, earthy magic of the wolves, and a jagged, intentional magic that could only come from a wizard’s wand. The smells of warring spells and curses clogged Remus’s nose, and he could barely breathe. He heard shouts, strange words in unrecognized voices. He bit his bottom lip to keep himself from crying out.</p>
<p class="p1">Finally, the noise faded. All that was left was heavy, ragged gasping.</p>
<p class="p1">Then, a man’s voice: “Anyone left, you think?”</p>
<p class="p1">Another man responded, his voice nearly identical to the first. “Don’t see anyone.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus could feel himself trembling, but he knew he mustn’t make a peep. Perhaps the wizards would go. Perhaps they would leave him alone, and then he could wait for Greyback to return. Yes, Greyback would know what was going on. He would know what to do.</p>
<p class="p1">A woman sighed. “Let me—<em>Homenum Revelio</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus stiffened. He felt a cool lurch in his stomach, a faint brush of some invisible hand. Goosebumps rose up and down his arms.</p>
<p class="p1">“Over there,” the woman murmured, and Remus knew he was caught.</p>
<p class="p1">Well. No use sitting there sniffling.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus stood, turning to face the attackers.</p>
<p class="p1">There were six wizards in the clearing, four men and two women. All adults, all with their wands pointed straight at him.</p>
<p class="p1">It had been a long time since Remus had last seen a wand in person. They didn’t look like they ought to be dangerous. They were just sticks, really, skinny and breakable. But Remus knew what they could do, and a shiver of terror skidded down his spine.</p>
<p class="p1">On the ground, lying in a heap, was Remus’s family. None of the wolves were moving, but Remus didn’t think they were dead—he could still hear the faint pounding of their hearts. The wizards, meanwhile, appeared generally unharmed. A few were sporting fresh scrapes or rumpled robes, but they’d clearly come out of the scuffle victorious.</p>
<p class="p1">A man toward the front of the group stepped toward Remus. He was broad, with bright red hair and a loose grin. He was young—only barely an adult at all—and his clone, another grinning redhead, stood right behind him. Twins, obviously.</p>
<p class="p1">“Well, damn,” said the man, peering at Remus curiously. “They’ve got themselves a cub.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus fought a flinch. He’d never liked that word much. It was what Greyback called him, no one else.</p>
<p class="p1">One of the women gave the man a smack. “Shut it, Fab,” she snapped, but her voice bubbled with humor. “He’s frightened.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus wanted to insist that he wasn’t scared, that he wasn’t a baby, but in fact he was too terrified to speak at all. He wasn’t entirely sure he could even open his mouth.</p>
<p class="p1">The man—Fab—fixed his expression into something more neutral, obviously meant to be calming. He held up his hands, pointing his wand skyward. Remus would be far more comforted if the other wizards weren’t still aiming right at his chest.</p>
<p class="p1">“We’re not gonna hurt you, kid,” said Fab. “You’re safe. We don’t hurt children.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus thought that was rather rich, coming from one of the people who’d just knocked out a bunch of women and an old man. He took a single, shaky step backward.</p>
<p class="p1">Fab pursued him, his hand outstretched as if he meant to place his palm on Remus’s shoulder. “We’ll protect you—” he started to say, but Remus wasn’t listening. He was staring, wide-eyed, at Fab’s fingers, at the scant inches between Fab’s skin and his own. Fab had gotten too close. Much, much too close.</p>
<p class="p1">Without thinking, Remus threw his arms up in front of his face. He drew on the magic floating in the air, the leftover magic from the wizards’ spells and the natural magic of the forest. He felt a rush in his gut, a hard tug, and then his skin burst into flames. Fire tickled his arms, trailing from his elbows to his wrists.</p>
<p class="p1">The wizards weren’t fazed. Fab didn’t even take a step back. He merely lowered his hand, giving Remus a sad, apologetic smile. “That’s a nice bit of magic,” he said. “Your friends had nice magic too. But how about you don’t give us any reason to use <em>our </em>magic, eh? ‘Cause we really don’t want to, not on you.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus’s gaze darted from face to face, from tree to tree, wondering what the wizards would do if he scurried off into the forest. Would they chase him? Tie him up and shove him in a cage, like Greyback always said wizards did to werewolves? Slice his flesh with silver knives?</p>
<p class="p1">The woman who’d smacked Fab moved suddenly. Tutting in a manner quite reminiscent of Delaney, she slipped her wand back into her pocket. “Weapons away, all of you,” she said. “We don’t need them anymore.”</p>
<p class="p1">One by one, the others followed her order—some immediately, others grudgingly. Finally, only Remus remained unmoved, still standing with his flame-coated arms up.</p>
<p class="p1">“You too, then,” said the woman, offering Remus a small grin. “It’s only fair.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus swallowed thickly. Slowly, fingers quivering, he dropped his arms to his sides. His fire flickered into nothing.</p>
<p class="p1">Fab’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Thanks for that,” he said.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus pointed at his pack mates. Delaney was curved in on herself, unnaturally bent, her hair splayed over her face. “Are you going to kill them?” he whispered. His voice was so low he wondered if their human ears would even hear him.</p>
<p class="p1">Fab shook his head firmly. “They’ll have a perfectly fair trial.”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Trial?</em> Trial for what? What crime were these strangers accusing Remus’s family of committing? Remus didn’t ask. He found himself unwilling to speak any more than necessary.</p>
<p class="p1">Gently, Fab reached out his hand once more, palm up. “Come on, kid,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">Half the wizards disappeared with Remus’s unconscious pack mates, whisking their bodies away to face “justice” for their supposed crime. But the twins and the young woman went with Remus.</p>
<p class="p1">The woman, who introduced herself as Alice, wrapped her hand gently around Remus’s elbow. He was so skinny her fingers almost touched, and he saw the way her lips pursed at the bony feel of him. “This might be a bit unpleasant,” she admitted. “But it’ll be over quick.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus just shrugged.</p>
<p class="p1">Together, they spun into a thick, stifling darkness. Remus’s lungs strained. He felt as though his body was being shoved through a trash compactor. He was sure he would suffocate.</p>
<p class="p1">But then, it was over. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly and trying hard to remain upright, and found himself standing in front of a wonky, tilting cottage in the middle of a sea of grassy hills. The cottage was pleasantly messy, its yard littered with clutter. There were flower pots and cauldrons, old boots and other random knickknacks scattered across the lawn, and Remus spotted a sweet, overgrown garden peeking out from behind the house.</p>
<p class="p1">The twins appeared with a <em>crack</em> to Remus’s right. Fab clapped Remus on the shoulder. “This is my sister’s place,” he said. “You’ll be alright here until we all figure out what to do.”</p>
<p class="p1">They went inside, stepping into a very cozy living room. Immediately, Remus could tell that this house was full of magic. He could smell it, could sense the way it permeated every surface. It was a warm sort of magic, like a hand-sewn quilt draped around his shoulders. Without meaning to, Remus felt his spine relax slightly.</p>
<p class="p1">“Molls!” Alice yelled. “You here?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus heard footsteps from the next room. A smallish, round-bodied woman bustled around the corner. She was quite young, had a mound of red hair, and held a little boy—a toddler—on her hip. This, Remus knew, could only be the twins’ sister.</p>
<p class="p1">“Gid, Fab,” she said, smiling and kissing each of her brothers on the cheek in turn. “Oh, Alice, you’re looking well. Frank doing alright?”</p>
<p class="p1">Alice nodded. “Auror training’s been doing a number on him, but he’s not keeled over yet.”</p>
<p class="p1">One of the twins—Gid—swept the toddler out of his sister’s arms, swinging him overhead like a great, giggling bird. “And how are <em>you </em>doing, Billy boy? Charlie not giving you trouble yet?”</p>
<p class="p1">The boy’s mother snorted. “Well, they’re both giving <em>me</em> trouble enough,” she chuckled. “I’ve just spend two hours trying to get them down for a nap.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You still sure you’re aiming for five, Molly?” Alice asked, eyebrow raised. “Arthur’s not changed his mind yet?”</p>
<p class="p1">But Molly was no longer listening. Her gaze had landed, soft and surprised, on the spot where Remus stood half-hidden behind Alice’s elbow.</p>
<p class="p1">“Well, who’s this, then?” she asked.</p>
<p class="p1">Fab nudged Remus with the back of his wrist. “We picked up a stray,” he said.</p>
<p class="p1">Alice shot him a ferocious glare, but she directed her next question at Molly. “Would you mind if we took your kitchen for a few hours? While we contact the, er, higher authorities?”</p>
<p class="p1">Molly nodded quickly. “Stay, of course stay,” she said. She bent at the knees, leaning so that she and Remus were at eye-level. She made her voice very soft and her face very sweet. “What’s your name, love?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus bit his bottom lip. His throat felt sticky, heavy, as if his tongue had been coated in molasses. He didn’t like them looking at him. Staring somewhere around Molly’s chin, he croaked, “Remus.”</p>
<p class="p1">Molly’s smile illuminated the whole room, sending a candle’s worth of heat into Remus’s tight chest. “Pleased to meet you, Remus. Would you like some tea?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus sat in a rickety wooden seat at a rickety wooden table for several hours, while Molly handed him cup after cup of mint tea, black tea, fruity tea, tea with milk, tea wth sugar—every flavor imaginable, as Remus had been unable to tell her which type he preferred. He could hear Alice and the twins murmuring in the next room, probably talking about him, but he ignored them. Instead, he stared around the room. There was magic everywhere: a self-stirring pot, a flower whose stem twisted and wiggled like a dancer, a child’s rocking horse that really galloped. Remus couldn’t remember ever seeing magic like this.</p>
<p class="p1">There was a mirror over the sink, and his eyes caught on that, too. His reflection peered back at him, startling and—honestly—rather embarrassing. With the pack, he’d only seen what he looked like in the rippled surface of passing streams, or on the warped backs of their food tins. But this was a clear view, and he had to admit that it wasn’t pretty.</p>
<p class="p1">He was small, shrunken like a dried apple. Starved and pointy-cheeked. He’d turned thirteen in March, but he could probably pass for eleven or twelve. His hair fell in a matted, mud-brown mass to his shoulders, and his skin was smudged with a visible layer of grime. His clothes—a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt that one of the wolves had stolen from a department store a few months ago—were stained and loose. He looked… feral. He looked like he’d been born in the dirt and never left it.</p>
<p class="p1">Frankly, Remus was surprised Molly was being so kind to him. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she refused to let him anywhere near her furniture.</p>
<p class="p1">Finally, a knock sounded at the front door. Molly hurried away to let in the new visitor.</p>
<p class="p1">She, Alice, and the twins filed back into the kitchen, but this time, they weren’t alone. They were followed by the most alarmingly <em>wizardish </em>man Remus had ever seen.</p>
<p class="p1">He was tall and thin, with a lengthy white beard. He wore sweeping robes of shimmery mauve fabric, speckled with stars that really glowed. A pair of spectacles sat perched on his stretched, crooked nose. He took up such a lot of space, Remus thought. Merely sharing a room with him made Remus feel smaller.</p>
<p class="p1">“Remus,” said Alice. “This is Albus Dumbledore. He’s here to—well, he’d like to have a chat. Is that alright?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus shrugged. He didn’t think they really cared much for his opinion on the matter.</p>
<p class="p1">Dumbledore settled opposite Remus. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and surveyed Remus with his bright blue eyes. The others, Molly and Alice and the twins, stood behind him, pressed against the sink.</p>
<p class="p1">“So,” said Dumbledore. He had a light, soothing voice, but Remus was not soothed. This man made him very, very nervous. “You’re Remus?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus nodded.</p>
<p class="p1">“And your full name?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus shook his head. “It’s just Remus,” he muttered.</p>
<p class="p1">“No last name?”</p>
<p class="p1">“No.” Remus shifted uncomfortably, then hurried on, words stumbling on their way past his lips. “We don’t use last names. They’re wizard things. Muggle things. Not <em>our </em>things.”</p>
<p class="p1">Dumbledore raised his eyebrows as if faintly surprised. “Might I ask why?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus tapped his pinky against his thigh. He felt incapable of <em>not </em>talking, as if Dumbledore was dragging his thoughts into speech. “Because—because people like you—wizards, you know—you think bloodlines are something that gives you power. Like, like, some families are more powerful than others. If you have the right last name, it makes you more important. But we aren’t like that. Our pack is our family, and we’re all—we’re all equal.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus settled into an embarrassed silence. He sunk down in his seat, not meeting anyone’s stare.</p>
<p class="p1">“All equal?” asked Dumbledore. “Is that right?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus nodded jerkily.</p>
<p class="p1">“And who told you that? Greyback?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus inhaled sharply. His fingers clenched on the bottom of his seat. He didn’t respond.</p>
<p class="p1">Dumbledore gave a small, sympathetic smile. “Are you surprised I know about him?”</p>
<p class="p1">“No,” snapped Remus. He was lying, of course, and he knew Dumbledore knew it.</p>
<p class="p1">Dumbledore reached into the folds of his robes, pulling a folded newspaper from his inside pocket. He pushed it across the table, so the front page stared up at Remus. There, in huge, bold letters, was the headline: <em>NINE DEAD IN MANCHESTER WEREWOLF ATTACK. </em>It took Remus an awkward few minutes to skim through the article. He wasn’t any great shakes at reading—not many books available, with the wolves. But Delaney had made sure he was literate enough, and he was able to piece together what the paper was trying to say.</p>
<p class="p1">A number of unidentified wolves had ravaged a family in Stalybridge during the last moon. The Devon family—a wizard man, his muggle wife, her elderly parents, and their five young children. All destroyed. Not killed—the article didn’t use the word killed—but <em>destroyed. </em>Ripped to bits.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus’s stomach churned. He bit down hard on his cheek and shoved the newspaper back toward Dumbledore. “What’s that got to do with me?” he demanded. “I wasn’t there, was I?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Albus, perhaps you shouldn’t—” started Molly, but Dumbledore held up his hand, and she fell silent.</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t worry, Remus,” he said. “I’m not under any belief that you were involved.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Then why—”</p>
<p class="p1">“I am quite certain, however, that Greyback and his followers—your pack, as you called them—were indeed the people responsible.” Dumbledore leveled Remus with a steady, searching stare.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus shook his head violently. His fingers were gripping the seat of his chair so hard he thought he might claw through the wood. “The paper said <em>unidentified</em> wolves,” he insisted. “You’re not certain of shit.”</p>
<p class="p1">If Dumbledore was offended by his language, he didn’t show it. In fact, his eyes twinkled with something like real humor. “I often know,” he said, “rather more than the papers.” He tapped the black-and-white photo printed under the headline. It was a moving picture, like all wizard photos, and it showed Mr. and Mrs. Devon with their arms wrapped around each other, waving at the camera. They were quite a lovely couple. Young and round-cheeked, both of them petite. Dead, now. Remus’s chest seized.</p>
<p class="p1">“Andrew Devon was an outspoken advocate for muggle-wizard collaboration,” Dumbledore said. “Not to the extent of breaking the International Statute of Secrecy, of course, but Andrew was a prominent research potioneer. He developed a popular anti-insomnia potion before he turned twenty-five, an accomplishment he credits to the help of his wife, a muggle psychiatrist. Do you know what a psychiatrist is?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus nodded.</p>
<p class="p1">“A few months ago,” Dumbledore continued, “Andrew petitioned the Ministry of Magic to create an avenue for wizards to better engage with the academic knowledge and scientific advancement of the muggle community—in order to better allow for our own progress, you see.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sir,” Remus interrupted. “I’m—I’m sorry Mr. Devon is dead and all, he seems great, but… why are you telling me this?”</p>
<p class="p1">Dumbledore sighed gravely. “I am telling you this,” he said, “because Andrew Devon’s pro-muggle leanings made him a target for a man who calls himself Lord Voldemort.” By the sink, Gid and Fab gave matching shudders. “Do you recognize that name?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus shrugged. He was quickly growing weary of this conversation. He didn’t want to talk about murdered families with strange people he didn’t know. He wanted Delaney. “No,” he said.</p>
<p class="p1">“Voldemort is also referred to as the Dark Lord,” Dumbledore said. “Is that familiar to you?”</p>
<p class="p1">This gave Remus pause. In an instant, he was transported back to the forest, to nights when he heard the older wolves muttering to each other, drinking and planning and never, ever telling him anything. That was the name they’d used. The Dark Lord.</p>
<p class="p1">Slowly, Remus nodded.</p>
<p class="p1">“Thank you,” Dumbledore said, though what he was grateful for Remus didn’t know. “Remus, I know it cannot be easy to hear this, but I feel obliged to tell you: I believe that your… <em>pack</em> has allied themselves with Lord Voldemort. And I believe it was them who murdered the Devons on his command.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus didn’t want to agree. He wanted to think it was ridiculous. But he remembered Greyback and the strongest pack members disappearing before the moon, slapping each other on the backs, buzzing with eager, nervous energy. He remembered what Greyback was capable of, when he was angry. He remembered what Greyback looked like with blood on his claws. With <em>Remus’s </em>blood on his teeth.</p>
<p class="p1">“Delaney didn’t know,” he said. Of this, he was sure. Delaney would never allow for the killing of children.</p>
<p class="p1">Dumbledore nodded kindly, but Remus knew he was only humoring him. “She will have an opportunity to present her case,” he said. Remus didn’t bother to stifle his snort.</p>
<p class="p1">“So,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you going to do with me, then? If everyone I know is going to prison.”</p>
<p class="p1">Once more, Dumbledore reached into his robe. This time, he pulled out a small polaroid, but set it face-down on the table, so Remus couldn’t tell the subject. “Remus, you say you have no need for a last name—”</p>
<p class="p1">“I don’t.”</p>
<p class="p1">“But whether you have use for it or not, you do indeed have one.” Slowly, he flipped the photograph and revealed the image. Like the picture of the Devons, it showed a couple. They were in their mid-twenties, grinning and fresh-faced. The woman was slight, with an unremarkable curtain of dirty blonde hair, and she was wearing a ‘50s-style cocktail dress, though someone had scribbled “1963” on the edge of the photo. The man, meanwhile, was a thin, knobbly sort of person, all limbs. He wore wizard robes, and his wand stuck out from the waist of his corduroys.</p>
<p class="p1">And then, sitting on the man’s knee—a little boy. A toddler, no older than Molly’s son Billy. He was a very… <em>indistinct </em>looking child, in Remus’s opinion. Loose, curly hair in an average shade of brown. A blank, forgettable face. The sort of kid who could grow up to look like anything at all.</p>
<p class="p1">“This,” said Dumbledore, pointing at the woman, “is Hope Lupin. And this—” He pointed to the man. “—is Lyall Lupin. They are your mother and father.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus shook his head. “Fenrir Greyback is my father,” he said, the words sour and easy and automatic all at once.</p>
<p class="p1">“Fenrir Greyback is your kidnapper.” Dumbledore’s voice was flat, tranquil, but the words were harsh. “He attacked your family when you were five years old, murdered your parents, and took you as his disciple.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus rolled his eyes. “I <em>know </em>that,” he spat. “I was there, wasn’t I?”</p>
<p class="p1">At this, Dumbledore’s eyes finally flickered with genuine surprise. Behind him, Molly’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “You know,” Dumbledore asked, “but still you think of Greyback as your father?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Fathers don’t have to be <em>good</em>,” said Remus, tightening his arms around his middle. “He still raised me.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus would never forget the night Greyback adopted him, the night he brought him into his family. He would never forget staring up with his wide, child’s eyes and meeting the gaze of a monster. He would never forget the pain, the way the wolf’s dagger teeth tug into the soft meat of his shoulder and shook his tiny body like a rag doll.</p>
<p class="p1">He would never forget waking up the next morning with the monster’s arms cradling him, telling him he was safe.</p>
<p class="p1">“Doesn’t matter,” Remus said. He couldn’t meet Dumbledore’s eyes anymore. He wanted so badly to be alone. “It’s not as if you’re gonna give me back to him, whether he’s my father or not. And they’re—” He nodded at the photograph. “—dead. So what are you gonna do with me?”</p>
<p class="p1">“An excellent question.” Dumbledore tipped an invisible hat. “Fabian here tells me you have quite the knack for wandless magic?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus blinked, startled. “Er—I’m not <em>that </em>good,” he said. “All of us can do it…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Be that as it may,” Dumbledore shrugged, “I’ll admit to being relieved that you haven’t been completely deprived of magical education up to this point. You’ll have to do less catching up than I thought.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Educa… what are you talking about?”</p>
<p class="p1">Dumbledore knit his fingers, leaning forward across the table. “Remus, as Lyall Lupin’s son, your name was written down as a future Hogwarts student the moment you were born. Normally, students join our school when they’re eleven, but under the circumstances, I believe we might make an exception.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus’s mouth hung open. Dumbledore’s words tumbled around inside his brain, making less and less sense the more he considered them. <em>Hogwarts</em>? A few of the older wolves, the ones who’d been turned as adults, had attended that school. But Remus couldn’t possibly… “But,” he stuttered, “but I’m—I’m a werewolf.”</p>
<p class="p1">A mischievous, twinkling smile bloomed across Dumbledore’s wrinkled face. “Ah, true,” he said. “Very true. But I am not so weak a wizard as to let that get in our way.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. August 1973</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Remus spent the rest of summer 1973 tucked away inside the Weasleys’ cottage.</p>
<p class="p1">It was the most uncomfortable the boy had ever been. Since the night he was turned, Remus’s contact with normal, human homes had been as limited as that of any other forest-dwelling creature. The pack slept under the stars. When it was too cold or too wet to go without shelter, they crammed their grimy bodies into the nearest cave, wrapping furs around their shoulders and huddling close to keep warm. Greyback always said that wolves didn’t require the same comforts as soft, weak-boned wizards. They only needed food, clothing, freedom, and each other.</p>
<p class="p1">But the Weasleys’ house—the Burrow, he’d learned to call it—was the opposite of all that. In the Burrow, there were blankets, and beds, and flushable toilets, and doors that locked if he wanted privacy. There were clocks that chimed the hour, so Remus didn’t have to check the skies to know the time of day. There was silverware, and Remus was expected to use it (one of the few occasions when Molly had snapped at him since his arrival was when she spotted him shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth by the fistful). There was too much food, and too much warmth.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus simply didn’t fit in a place like the Burrow. He stood out there like a boil on otherwise unblemished skin. Molly’s brothers, Gideon and Fabian, had delivered a bag of old clothes from when they were about Remus’s age, so at least Remus was cleanly dressed, but still—the <em>wildness </em>of him couldn’t be covered just by slipping a fresh jumper over his head. Even after a dozen showers, he still looked like he belonged among the trees. It was the inhumanness in his eyes: his darting, anxious stare. And it was the hair. After catching Molly looking at it one too many times, he’d finally pulled it back into a rough, tangled bun.</p>
<p class="p1">But the real problem wasn’t that Remus wasn’t used to indoor plumbing, or that he looked like the animal he was. The real problem was <em>people.</em></p>
<p class="p1">Remus had known, objectively, that he’d been socialized poorly. He’d never had friends his own age, and his only frequent interactions were with the same two dozen werewolves—most of whom weren’t any great conversationalists themselves. Much of the communication in the pack was nonverbal: the nuzzling of a cheek against a shoulder, or the hard swipe of a hand to the back of the head. When Dumbledore had come, Remus had spoken far more than he usually did, compelled by the wizard’s searching gaze and magical authority, but he couldn’t be bothered to repeat the performance with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.</p>
<p class="p1">Molly was alright. She reminded Remus quite a bit of Delaney. This was a double-edged sword. On one hand, he was less nervous around her. On the other, she made him miss his friend. But still, he could usually muster a few words to Molly if she asked him a question, or if he needed someone to explain to him how some household appliance worked. He always thanked her when she cooked him dinner.</p>
<p class="p1">Arthur was a separate matter. This was, of course, through no fault of his own. He was a kindly, curious, slightly eccentric man, and Remus knew instantly that he was no danger. But Remus had been taught young to stay well away from tall, strong men in their prime of life. They were always the meanest wolves. They were the ones who were most frustrated with their place in the world, and who liked to take it out on the weaker members of the pack—the smaller women, and Remus. Delaney had shielded Remus as best she could, but the best protection was his own silence, his own ability to put his head down and remain unnoticed.</p>
<p class="p1">So, whenever Arthur Weasley was in the room, that was what Remus did. He closed his mouth and made himself small.</p>
<p class="p1">And then, of course, there were the children. Billy and Charlie. Remus was simply and purely terrified by them.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus spent as much time as possible holed up in his bedroom. Or, the bedroom he’d been given to sleep in—it wasn’t really <em>his</em>. It was a little room, up near the attic, just a few paces from wall to wall. It was very quiet. He woke up every morning, scurried down to the bathroom to relieve himself, then hurried back upstairs and curled up on his bed until Molly called him down again for lunch.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d been at the Burrow nearly a month when he finally approached his hosts to ask them a question. All four of them—Molly and Arthur and their sons—were gathered in the kitchen. Molly was fussing over Billy, trying to clean the smear of jelly he’d left across his cheeks, while Arthur bounced Charlie on his hip. None of them noticed when Remus wandered into the room.</p>
<p class="p1">He coughed awkwardly. “Er—Mrs. Weasley?”</p>
<p class="p1">The adults looked up. “Yes, dear?” said Molly.</p>
<p class="p1">“Well…” Remus tapped his fingernails against his thigh. “I was wondering, uh, what I’m gonna do tomorrow night.”</p>
<p class="p1">Molly blinked. “Tomorrow night? What do you—oh! Oh, yes, of course, tomorrow night. Sorry, dear. Well, Arthur?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ve got it all sorted with Dumbledore.” Arthur gave what ought to have been a very reassuring smile. “He’s making some more permanent arrangements for you for once you get to school, but for now, I’ll be apparating you out somewhere remote to transform. That sound alright?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus nodded quickly, then hurried back upstairs.</p>
<p class="p1">The next morning, Remus woke feeling very poorly indeed. He’d been in pain for the past few days, the shadows under his eyes swelling and his head aching—all the tell-tale signs of the wolf pounding against his insides, trying to break free. But the last day before the full moon was always a particularly dreary thing. He was always a frail-looking boy—he knew that—but on full moon days he looked one hard push away from shattering.</p>
<p class="p1">Molly had to stifle a gasp when he walked into the kitchen. “<em>Remus</em>,” she said, and her tone was almost chastising, as if his sickliness was a mark of misbehavior. “You need to eat, young man.”</p>
<p class="p1">So, she spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between caring for her sons and forcing more food down Remus’s throat. He didn’t complain, even when he’d eaten so much he felt he might explode all over his hosts’ furniture. He just inhaled as many calories as he could, knowing he would burn them and more off that night.</p>
<p class="p1">Finally, just after five in the evening, Mr. Weasley returned from work. He had a boring sort of job with the Ministry of Magic, from what Remus had gathered. This did not make Remus trust him more—the Ministry was the most dangerous place in the world to werewolves, according to Greyback.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus did not meet Mr. Weasley’s eye as the man grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into that horrid, pressing darkness. Together, they reappeared in the middle of a forest. It was unfamiliar—not anywhere Remus had wandered with the pack. The trees were a little thinner, a bit more sparse than any forest he’d called his home.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ll have to leave you in a minute,” Arthur said. “But don’t worry: we’ve placed protective enchantments around the area. You’ll have about a square kilometer or so to, er, run about, but you won’t be able to go further than that. And no one will be able to get in. We’ll collect you in the morning.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus nodded mutely.</p>
<p class="p1">When Arthur had departed, Remus went through his pre-moon process as usual—though this time, for the first time, he was all alone. He shed his clothes, grateful for the summer heat, and tucked them into a hollow at the base of a tree. He curled up on the earth. He waited, and waited, and waited.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">When Remus opened his eyes the next morning, his first thought wasn’t about the agony still tingling in his veins, or about the relief he felt—as always—at the return of his conscious mind. Instead, he was overwhelmed with a single truth, a feeling, echoing in the hollows under his ribs and in the numbness in his fingertips:</p>
<p class="p1"><em>I was lonely</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Somehow, he hadn’t imagined that he would be lonely. His memories of full moon nights were usually thin, shapeless things, difficult to parse or interpret, but he’d always been able to remember the <em>feeling </em>of being a wolf: the freedom, the frenzy, the joy of chasing the wind. He’d never realized how much of that joy was due to the other wolves running at his side.</p>
<p class="p1">Embarrassingly, Remus could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Despite the summer sun, his body was cold. He wanted, desperately, to feel his family around him, to hear their post-transformation groans, to watch them stretch and pop their joints back into place. He wanted Delaney to brush his sweaty hair away from his forehead and check him for injuries.</p>
<p class="p1">Irritated with himself for his sentimentality, he wiped the wetness from his cheeks and heaved himself into a sitting position. His body complained loudly. His muscles felt like newly sculpted clay, his bones like glass that had been shattered, then taped back together.</p>
<p class="p1">But it wasn’t so bad. No major scrapes, no dislocated shoulders. It seemed that the wolf had merely spent the night exploring the new terrain. That, and mourning the loss of its friends.</p>
<p class="p1">Gritting his teeth, Remus managed to crawl to the place he’d hidden his clothes, pulling on his jeans and tugging a shirt over his head before Mr. Weasley arrived.</p>
<p class="p1">“Went okay?” Arthur asked happily, as he tugged Remus to his feet.</p>
<p class="p1">“It was fine.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus went off to bed as soon as he and Arthur reappeared at the Burrow’s front door, and he didn’t emerge for hours and hours. He was sleeping, mostly, but he was also thinking.</p>
<p class="p1">Thinking: <em>I guess I’ll be lonely every month, now</em>. It was not a pleasant thought.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">A few days after the moon, a parade of owls soared through the Weasleys’ sitting room window. They landed in a cluster, legs outstretched. Each of them was carrying a sizable package.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus, who was curled up on the couch, picking at his sixth meal of the day (Molly insisted he eat as much as possible, as he’d used up so much energy during his transformation), approached the owls cautiously. They didn’t flinch away, as less trained animals often did, but they eyed him with clear distrust.</p>
<p class="p1">“What’cha got there?” he murmured, taking one of the packages and peering at the label. It was addressed, in bold letters, to <em>Mr. Remus Lupin</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">He was still unused to that name. Lupin. It was a name he’d had pushed from his head over the years, a name he knew wasn’t rightly his anymore, a name he’d lost when he was turned. It almost felt silly to see it written out. Like the writer had made an amusing, foolish mistake.</p>
<p class="p1">The other packages were addressed similarly. There was one letter, held by the smallest, youngest owl, and Remus ripped it open first. Slowly, stumbling a bit over the flourishing penmanship, he read:</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>UNIFORM</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Third-year students will require:</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">The letter went on and on, listing various clothing items and books and magical tools he’d need at Hogwarts. The more he read, the more uncomfortable he became. He’d managed to shove thoughts of school out of his mind over the last month, but here was inarguable, unavoidable proof that he, Remus, local woodland wildling, was about to be formally educated, whether he wanted to be or not. </p>
<p class="p1">He opened the packages. All the books from the list were there—thick tomes with stupid titles like <em>One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi</em>. They seemed second-hand, all with wrinkled pages and doodles in the margins. Two of the books, one brown one with a picture of a many-toothed lionish creature and another with a bunch of odd symbols all over the cover, seemed to be the required texts for Remus’s elective courses, Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy. Dumbledore had asked Remus about them at their first meeting, presenting a list of classes that students normally began taking in their third year and letting Remus pick which ones he wanted. Remus was dreading these courses the least. They were the only ones he wouldn’t be too obviously behind in.</p>
<p class="p1">Also included in the packages was a potions kit, and brass scales, and a telescope, and a cauldron, all a bit worn but certainly still serviceable. The only items missing were Remus’s robes and wand. Those things, he assumed, he’d need to purchase himself, with the small pouch of galleons he’d found tucked away in the last parcel.</p>
<p class="p1">He heaved himself to his feet and headed for the kitchen, finding Molly bent over Billy, trying to convince him to swallow his peas.</p>
<p class="p1">“Go on, sweetheart, they’re so yummy—Remus!” She straightened, facing him. “Are you alright, dear?” She’d been asking that a lot over the past few days. Apparently, Remus’s post-moon exhaustion had given rise to some instinctual, motherly concern for his wellbeing.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus nodded. “I’m fine,” he said. His voice was so embarrassingly quiet. He was never so <em>timid </em>around the pack. Or at least, not around the pack members he liked. “I was just—er, I got a list. Of stuff, you know, that I need for school. They sent most of it, but I need a wand. And clothes. They, er, sent money.”</p>
<p class="p1">Molly hummed. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought. We can pop by Diagon Alley this weekend.”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus shook his head quickly. “I can go by myself. You don’t need to bother.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Hm.” Molly bit her lip, considering him. “I really don’t feel comfortable letting you jet off to London by yourself. No, we’d better go with you.”</p>
<p class="p1">And so, that Saturday Remus found himself stepping into the Weasleys’ fireplace and whirling away to the central hub of wizarding England, escorted by four well-meaning but overwhelming redheads.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus had probably visited Diagon Alley when he was very small, but he didn’t remember it. The place was as unfamiliar to him as it was terrifying. There were people <em>everywhere</em>. Witches and wizards in swirling robes and colorful hats, all carrying dozens of shopping bags, all wearing the same excited, harried expression. Remus shrank back, accidentally treading on Mr. Weasley’s toes as a football team’s worth of witches rushed past him, heading toward the nearest apothecary.</p>
<p class="p1">The noise was nearly unbearable. There was laughter, and childish wailing, and the cacophony of hundreds of people gossiping and complaining and asking for directions to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Remus, with his over-sensitive ears, more accustomed to the hushed sounds of birds chirping and small critters rustling between bushes, tensed against the tumult.</p>
<p class="p1">“Alright,” said Molly. “Arthur, you take the boys to get some ice cream.”</p>
<p class="p1">Billy, standing with his arms wrapped around his father’s leg, gave a high-pitched cheer.</p>
<p class="p1">“Remus, I’ll drop you off at Madam Malkin’s, so you can get fitted for your robes. You’ve got your money with you?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus nodded mutely.</p>
<p class="p1">“Good. Come on then, off we go.”</p>
<p class="p1">Mr. Weasley disappeared with Billy and baby Charlie, while Molly led Remus down the street to a small shop bearing a sign with pink letters that read <em>MADAM MALKIN’S ROBES FOR ALL OCCASIONS</em>. Four mannequins stood in the shop window, all faceless and all clad in overly lacy, heavily patterned dress robes.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m off to Gringotts,” said Molly. “Shouldn’t take long, so I’ll meet you back here when I’m done, okay? Don’t go wandering off—just wait around here for a bit if you finish before I return.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Alright.”</p>
<p class="p1">With that, Molly departed, and Remus pushed into the store.</p>
<p class="p1">It was a small, quaint place, and it was mercifully empty. There were curtained changing rooms off to the right, a few shelves of shoes to the left, and most of the floor space was covered in hanging fabric—robes and cloaks.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus peered at the closest rack—a row of plain black robes that seemed to be what his Hogwarts list had been asking for. He fingered the collar of the nearest garment, searching for the size—then gasped, stepping back like the robe had burned white-hot.</p>
<p class="p1">Oh, Merlin, the <em>price</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus had precisely ten galleons in his little pouch. This was, to him, a sizable fortune, though he’d known objectively that it wasn’t much by most wizards’ standards. But still, there was simply no way he could afford robes like those, unless he wanted to forgo buying a wand.</p>
<p class="p1">“Need help, love?”</p>
<p class="p1">Remus whirled around. Standing before him was a squat, round-faced woman, all rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, with three tape measurers draped around her neck. This, he assumed, was Madam Malkin.</p>
<p class="p1">“Er—” He coughed. “I’m looking—I need robes for school…” His words came out as a humiliatingly mushy mumble.</p>
<p class="p1">Madam Malkin nodded understandingly. “Of course. Well, you’re looking at the right rack—”</p>
<p class="p1">“Um.” Remus shifted. He knew his face was burning red. “Do you have anything, uh, cheaper?”</p>
<p class="p1">Malkin blinked, but quickly recovered. “The second-hand section’s toward the back,” she said, and she guided him through the aisles to a small, shabby row in the dimmest corner of the shop. The clothes there had clearly been worn before. A few of them were frayed around the hem, and the colors were faded, closer to gray than black.</p>
<p class="p1">“Let’s see,” Malkin tutted to herself, thumbing through the options. “Definitely on the smaller side… are you a first year, love? Or a second year?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Third year, actually,” Remus muttered, trying and failing not to become self-conscious. He was, apparently, as skinny as he’d feared.</p>
<p class="p1">“Ah… well, let’s try this.” She pulled a heap of black fabric from the rack and tossed it unceremoniously over Remus’s head. The robes billowed down to his toes.</p>
<p class="p1">“A bit long,” she said, “but that’s nothing we can’t hem. Fits alright in the shoulders.”</p>
<p class="p1">The next five minutes were a flurry of pins and sewing needles and measurements. Remus was made to stand absolutely still, while Madam Malkin fluttered around, tugging here and there until she deemed the outfit acceptable. “Take a look in the mirror,” she said, nudging him back toward the front of the shop.</p>
<p class="p1">There was a full-length mirror next to the changing rooms. Remus stood before it, staring at his reflection. He looked… fine, probably. The shapelessness of the robes swallowed the narrow form of his body. It was a very bland outfit, if he put aside the overall oddness of wizard fashion. His face still wasn’t much to look at, but with the clothes—well, with clothes like those, Remus almost looked like a real Hogwarts student. Almost.</p>
<p class="p1">As Remus was checking out, the door to the store flew open once more. Remus glanced over his shoulder.</p>
<p class="p1">A boy walked into the shop, followed closely by a middle-aged woman who could only be his mother. Immediately, they approached the counter, where Remus still hovered, holding his just-bought robes. Neither of them looked at him, ignoring him like he was nothing but air, but Remus didn’t think it rude. He was just grateful they didn’t stare.</p>
<p class="p1">“We’re looking for Hogwarts robes,” said the mother, in a high, polite sort of voice, while her son peered idly at a vibrant paisley cloak. “My son’s long-since grown out of his, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hogwarts. This boy would be Remus’s schoolmate, then. He gave him a long look, drinking him in.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>This</em>, Remus thought, was what a Hogwarts student ought to look like. The boy wasn’t particularly good-looking; in fact, he was rather soft and squinty-eyed, and he had a bad zit growing on his chin. But he had an <em>easy </em>air about him. He’d obviously been well cared-for. His clothes were nicely made, not ostentatiously expensive but obviously tailored. <em>He </em>certainly wouldn’t be buying his uniform second-hand. His hair—a blondish, brownish mop—was combed into a neat, if rather unfashionable, part.</p>
<p class="p1">The boy looked… <em>fed</em>. He looked like he’d played with lots of toys, and eaten lots of meals, and slept his whole life in a suitably soft bed. He looked, in short, not a thing like Remus.</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">It was the thirty-first day of August, and tomorrow, Remus would be going to school.</p>
<p class="p1">He was as prepared as he possibly could be. Arthur had bought him a trunk in Diagon Alley—a sweet, unnecessary kindness that made Remus’s cheeks burn—and it was filled to the brim with books, tools, and clothes. All the things a young wizard could need.</p>
<p class="p1">A wizard. Ha.</p>
<p class="p1">If all went to plan, he would spend the next five years surrounded by people who believed he was like them. Who believed that he was a wizard, and nothing else. Who would be shocked and horrified to know the truth of him.</p>
<p class="p1">He tried, desperately, to convince himself that all of this—Hogwarts, getting an education, meeting people his own age—was a hassle, a prison sentence forced upon him by Hogwarts’s batty old headmaster. He tried to remind himself that he didn’t <em>really </em>want to go. He wanted his family. His pack.</p>
<p class="p1">But as he sat on his bed, sliding his new wand between his fingers and feeling its pleasant warmth, a little voice murmured in the back of his head. It was a voice he’d heard before. It was the voice that always liked to remind him what Greyback’s teeth felt like when they ripped apart his flesh. It was the voice that made him cower when the bigger, meaner wolves got too close. It was the voice that whispered how nice it would be to wear clothes he didn’t have to steal, to eat real food, to be a human worth a shred of dignity.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Maybe</em>, said the voice, <em>you’ll like it there. All you have to do is not get caught. That’s not so hard. You know how to hide.</em></p>
<p class="p1"><em>Learning things won’t be so bad</em>, said the voice. <em>Reading books and doing spells—what’s wrong with that? Maybe</em> <em>you’ll even turn out smart. </em></p>
<p class="p1"><em>Maybe, </em>said the voice, <em>people will like you</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">This last suggestion was the most ridiculous of all, and Remus snorted as soon as he thought it. He was more likely to slaughter his fellow students than to befriend them. And even if he didn’t commit any moonlit murders, he’d still be unpopular. He would be the new boy, two years behind his peers socially. And surely, even if they didn’t know what he was, they’d still recognize his wrongness. They’d sense the danger in his blood.</p>
<p class="p1">Greyback had once said: “Humans always know when they’re looking at a monster. The monster can look like them, and talk like them, and walk like them, but they’ll know. They’ll know, and they’ll hate it. And if they can, they’ll kill it.”</p>
<p class="p1">Sighing, Remus pushed to his feet. He crossed the room, peering into a small mirror pinned to the wall.</p>
<p class="p1">Despite a month and a half of Molly’s cooking, Remus was still stick-thin. He was still sickly pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. His hair still hung in a thick tangle to his shoulders. He still looked like a werewolf.</p>
<p class="p1">Remus let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his hands over his face. The voice was quite loud now, and it was insistent:</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Give it your best shot. Walk into that castle and do your very best impression of a person.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">Remus’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulling at the roots. His fingernails scraped against his scalp.</p>
<p class="p1">“If they look at me,” he breathed, his voice over-loud in the silent bedroom, “they’ll see it.”</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>So don’t give them any reason to look.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">Slowly, Remus picked up a pair of scissors from the bedside table. He held the blades to his temple, just over his right ear.</p>
<p class="p1">He cut once, twice, three times, four. Bit by ugly bit, his hair fell around his toes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hogwarts next chapter!! so soon!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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